


Fleeting Warmth

by goldenteaset



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Belial Being Belial (Granblue Fantasy), Bittersweet, Communication, During Canon, Emotional Manipulation, Forests, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Language Barrier, Light Angst, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:01:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28077381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenteaset/pseuds/goldenteaset
Summary: "The man—the Primal Beast—pauses in the middle of dragging himself onto the grassy bank. His eyes’ brilliant glow aims straight at her hiding spot.“Oh?” His voice turns gentle and warm as honey. “Sorry. I didn’t see you there earlier, little Primal.”Yggdrasil pokes her head out warily, resting her hand against the tree trunk for security.“Well, now. Aren’t you just the cutest.” Wet fabric squelches as he crouches down and crooks a bone-white finger. “Why don’t you come here and let me get a better look at you?”Something about him feels oddly trustworthy, like a voice she heard before she was birthed into the world. And so she steps out to meet him, her dress and petal-pink hair flowing about her ankles."Belial had to get those specific treasure requirements for his Scythe from somewhere...
Relationships: Belial & Yggdrasil
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	Fleeting Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> Hallo! This idea has been on my mind for awhile, namely that Belial must have gone scouting around for treasure requirements for his Scythe. Plus the idea of him interacting with someone who can't speak the same way he does is fascinating. :D
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Granblue Fantasy.

As she has for centuries, Yggdrasil watches over the Lumacie Archipelago from her nest of fresh verdure and soft moss—until she hears something amiss.

_Splash._

She sees no Skyfarer vessel disembark, but _something_ landed on her island with a resounding clamor _. A bird? A Primal Beast?_ She must investigate.

Yggdrasil hitches up her petal-like skirts and floats over the tops of the ancient trees that reach up ceaselessly to the sky above, checking them as carefully as a mother for any damage. So far, everyone seems unharmed. The trees themselves are whispering to each other on the wind; they’re curious as well, but alas, not able to uproot themselves and investigate.

 _From the waterfall,_ they say, branches swaying and comforting each other. _The noise came from something falling from the waterfall and into the river._

Yggdrasil thanks them for their service and makes her way to the massive waterfall that churns relentlessly at the center of the island. When she arrives, she hitches her skirts still higher and strolls along the river itself, not minding the cool wetness rolling over the soles of her feet. _There is nothing amiss here…perhaps the ‘something’ was pushed downstream?_

She quickens her pace, water spraying about her ankles as she jogs along the current. When the trailing branches part for her, she at last finds the “something”—or rather, the “someone”.

It’s a man, drenched and bedraggled with reeds tangled in his acorn-brown hair. He’s trying to climb out of the river—but the large feather boa about his black-clad body keeps getting snared by the current, turning him about like a top.

Yggdrasil ducks behind some thick-trunked trees to watch him further; he might be a hunter of some kind. But somehow, that assumption feels wrong. _What pale skin…he must be chilled to the bone this early in Spring._

As silent as leaves falling on moss, the blades of grass lightly kissing her toes, she creeps her way around to his front.

The man’s jacket is undone, hiding his back from view as a bent willow’s trailing leaves hide their trunk. Such a detail seems important. Why?

“Ugh, _really?_ ” the man growls, lifting his drenched boa clear of the water entirely. “If you’re going to try tearing my clothes off…” He clicks his tongue in annoyance. “…You know what? Forget it. I’m really off my game today, if I’m trying get _water_ hot under the collar.”

Rather than continue fighting against the current, he lets it roll him down the river until he finds a mossy rock to cling to.

Yggdrasil lights after him, impressed by his cleverness, given some of the Skydwellers she’s met before. Perhaps the others were foolish? This one has time yet to eat poisonous mushrooms and prove her wrong.

“Okay, okay,” the man mutters to himself, moving from one rock to another as he makes his way to the riverbank. “Just a little more…come to Papa…”

_Papa? What an odd term._

Yggdrasil’s finally able to see his face—and draws up short. She has little concept of physical beauty that isn’t of nature, so for all she knows his slender features may be hideous to Skydwellers. But those _eyes_ …those crimson irises, glowing hot in the lush shade, could never belong to mortals.

The man—the Primal Beast—pauses in the middle of dragging himself onto the grassy bank. His eyes’ brilliant glow aims straight at her hiding spot.

“Oh?” His voice turns gentle and warm as honey. “Sorry. I didn’t see you there earlier, little Primal.”

Yggdrasil pokes her head out warily, resting her hand against the tree trunk for security.

“Well, now. Aren’t _you_ just the cutest.” Wet fabric _squelches_ as he crouches down and crooks a bone-white finger. “Why don’t you come here and let me get a better look at you?”

Something about him feels oddly trustworthy, like a voice she heard before she was birthed into the world. And so she steps out to meet him, her dress and petal-pink hair flowing about her ankles.

“You’ve definitely been helping this island flourish, good girl,” he praises, giving her a thorough once-over. “Anyway”—he presses a hand to his bare chest—“I’m Belial. Pleasure to meet you. What’s your name, little one?”

Yggdrasil sings out her name, even as she wonders if Belial can understand this simple language of wordless chimes. When she awoke, there was no one to teach her how to speak.

Belial’s eyes widen in surprise. “Wait, you…hold on.” Rising to his full height, he rests his chin between thumb and forefinger. “Sing that again for me?”

She does so, a little more self-conscious than before of his lips following her “words”.

Belial hums in thought, his feet shifting against the soft dark loam. “Sorry, I guess I’ll need a little while to understand. But that sound _felt_ like your name. Can you say mine—‘Belial’?”

“ _Belial,_ ” she sings, her voice lilting at each flow of syllables.

“Ooh, okay, so that’s what my name will sound like. What about ‘Yes’?”

It’s a firm, rich note—easy enough.

“ _Very_ good. And ‘no’?”

A low, sonorous rumble.

“Alright, _now_ we’re getting somewhere!” Then Belial chuckles, his lips twitching up at the corners as he sweeps a hand over his bared body. “Do you like what you see?”

Yggdrasil pauses, and after a moment: “ _I’m unsure_.”

“That’s a middle ground between the ‘yes’ and ‘no’ notes…so ‘maybe’. Good to know.” Belial grins and starts wringing out his feather boa. “Let’s see…what else would be important…”

“ _Tree_ ,” Yggdrasil says, pointing to one just in case.

“…I’m not sure why ‘tree’ would be useful, since we’re not exactly _lacking_ in that area, but okay. What’s ‘river’?”

They spend quite a while working out a common language, going from trees and rivers to less tangible things: “hot” and “cold”, “safe” and “dangerous”. For as much as Yggdrasil is enjoying these lessons, however, she notices that Belial keeps shivering in his wet clothes. That won’t do.

“ _Let me warm you up_ ,” she says, taking him by the (cold, clammy) hand and hauling him off toward her nest.

“‘Hot’, huh? This is going pretty fast, given we just met,” Belial jokes, his knuckles quivering against her palm.

Yggdrasil ignores him and nudges him inside the hollowed-out trunk. The first thing to take care of is the soaked feather boa: she slips it free of his shoulders and moves to drape it over one of the thick branches that serves as her roof. It’s so heavy in her arms, her balance wobbles as she tosses it into the air. It lands on the branch with a thick _flop_ , but it stays.

She turns back to face him, greeted with the happy knowledge that he understands and is already removing the rest of his soggy clothes. _He’s even humming like a bird! How lovely._

Belial rolls his coat off the graceful slope of his shoulders—and struggles out of it the rest of the way. “No, no,” he insists when Yggdrasil tries to help him, “you just sit back and enjoy the show.”

At first, she does what he says. (His little song, and the way his hips sway like flowers in a breeze, _are_ very nice.) But after watching him fruitlessly fight with his pants for too long, she yanks them down herself. It’s a brisk, sharp gesture, fighting against clingy fabric and wriggling flesh—but it works.

He falls like a felled tree under their combined weight onto the soft, buoyant carpeting of moss, shaking with cold and laughter. “You’re more forward than I expected!”

Yggdrasil doesn’t stop there. “ _I have hot water for you,_ ” she sings. With slight awkwardness at his weight, she cradles and carries him toward the thermal pool tucked into a corner of her house.

Belial’s toes flinch as furls of steam pass through their fragile gaps. “You’re really living in luxury here,” he says wonderingly, as he slithers out of her arms and into the blue-green water with a _splash._ As it’s meant for her size, his knees easily brush the opposite end of the bath. “A comfy bed, a hot bath always ready…what, do you eat from gold plates too?”

She shakes her head, since she doesn’t know what “gold” is, nor plates. Only wooden bowls.

“Heh. That’s fair.” Belial sinks down to his neck, closing his eyes in bliss. “Ooh…it’s _lovely_ in here. Why don’t you come in?”

Yggdrasil gauges the amount of space—and, finding an opportunity, sheds her dress and joins him. The hot water massages her muscles wonderfully, and she settles with her side brushing against his. _Ah…his body is lumpier than mine. Could they be dangerous?_ Her hands explore them carefully, searching for any painful areas.

“I’m not hurt anywhere,” Belial assures her, smiling. “Those are 'abdominal muscles'; everybody has them to some degree.” He gives her belly a gentle poke. “See? Even you!”

She jolts and giggles at that—a literal peal of mirth.

“Was that a laugh?” His voice is even sweeter now, playful and bouncing.

“ _Yes_ ,” she answers, the water lapping wildly about the bath as she wiggles against him. “ _Do that again!_ ”

Laughing himself, Belial doesn’t poke her this time: rather, he brushes his fingers feather-light over her belly, following every little dance of muscle. For a small touch, it makes her core feel light as a bird soaring through the sky. He must feel similarly; he doesn't mind when she holds his wrist in place to keep him there.

Then he looks about them and makes a moue of dissatisfaction. “Hmm…we’re getting water everywhere, little one. Maybe we should stop for now.”

Yggdrasil has a flicker of disappointment before realizing that Belial needs to warm up and rest. She looks up at the sky beginning to purple with dusk above their heads. _I wonder…is the sky the same color everywhere? Would Belial know?_

She turns to ask him—and finds he’s thoroughly wallowing in the heat, only his face visible above the water. _His skin is beginning to flush now…good._

After they finish soaking, they stumble out together in a flurry of sweat and steam. Yggdrasil lifts up a corner of the blanket of moss, and Belial crawls inside with sleepy slowness. Once he’s settled to her satisfaction (blanket tucked up to his chin), she retreats to her favorite corner of the house. From the doorway, she can nestle under her blanket and watch the river flow rhythmically outside, frogs calling out for their mates in the cover of soft moonlight.

Just before she falls asleep, she feels Belial’s gaze heating the nape of her neck.

\---

The next morning, Yggdrasil wakes to the sound of someone rummaging through her nest.

“Hmm…no solids for the little one, huh?” A low, rumbling chuckle. “Well, I can work with that.”

Yggdrasil sits up and climbs out of bed, rubbing sleep from her eyes. “ _What are you doing, Belial?_ ”

Belial looks down at her and smiles, doling out golden nectar she collected yesterday into a wooden bowl. “Morning, sleeping beauty. Did you have sweet dreams? Good. As for what I’m doing…I’m paying you back for the lovely rest with breakfast in bed.”

Carefully, she takes the bowl from his hands, noting with relief the warmth his fingers leave behind. Dipping her head down to drink, she sighs with happiness as the sweet, refreshing nectar goes down her throat. “ _Thank you!_ ”

“Oh, it’s no trouble.” He fills another bowl with nectar and pauses, looking at her. “You drink it like this, right?” In mimicry of her, his slender fingers lift the bowl to his lips, his pale throat bobbing in lazy rhythm as he drinks it down.

Yggdrasil nods, and for a time they break their fast in quiet contentment. Birds flitter about outside, carrying on harmonic conversations, and sun dapples through the branches of the roof to nestle in Belial’s dark hair. It’s as peaceful a morning as she could ever ask for.

“So,” Belial’s voice slips through the silence, “what’s on your to-do list, little one? I’d like to accompany you.”

It could be fun.

Taking Belial by the hand once again, she walks with him through Lumacie’s forests. They check on the animals for any injuries, cut down rotting trees to ease their suffering, peer through the undergrowth for any Skydweller traps.

“Since it’s Spring, so many animals are having young,” Belial notes, as downwind from them a boar and its striped children trot aggressively through the undergrowth. “Everyone is creating something new.”

" _Even you?_ " Yggdrasil pats his belly, waiting for an infant to wiggle and kick against her palm.

A low, sweet laugh that delights her ears. “Well, I’m not _expecting_ …but I _am_ trying to make something.” He glances around as if not wanting to be overheard. “It’s something…special,” he continues in a whisper. “A weapon for a very special person.”

Yggdrasil gasps and reaches for Belial’s hands in excitement. " _The Singularity?!_ "

“Oh-ho, so you know them too? What a lucky break!” He looks down at her from beneath his lashes, his smile curved like a petal. “Well, now…I _knew_ that beautiful dress looked familiar for a reason. The Singularity has quite a few of your weapons by now…it seems you’re an expert at finding good crafting materials.”

Somehow this straightforward compliment makes Yggdrasil’s cheeks burn. " _I wouldn’t say_ that…"

“Aww, don’t be so modest,” Belial croons, gently twirling a strand of her hair around his finger and letting it uncurl. “But…if you’re really uncertain of it, I won’t mention it again. Okay?”

Yggdrasil nods, her flesh still afire from embarrassment.

Moments later, however, she finds herself leading Belial to her favorite material-gathering spots: near the lake, or in the mountain pass. Belial seems delighted by each new location, studiously taking notes and keeping tabs on things like how many animas she can produce at any given time. He remains a sparkling conversationalist—he’s even able to recognize her ungainly attempts at jokes, now. His nape-tickling laughter only makes her want to spend more time with him, to show him more of her secret spots.

And yet…it all feels strangely rushed. She can’t put it into words. Perhaps it’s the far-away look he gets in his eyes when he thinks she isn’t looking, or the driving pace of his stride.

She tugs at his jacket, her fingers tense with nerves. " _Am I doing something_ wrong?"

“No, you’re doing fine, little one.” He turns to face her and clasps her hand in his with the same care she shows flower buds. “Your legs are shaking—are you tired?” At her reluctant nod, his brows crinkle in worry. “Oh, you poor thing! If you want, we can stop for today.”

 _But the materials,_ Yggdrasil starts, only to gasp in surprise as he lifts her into his arms and starts jogging back to her nest.

“Now, now, Yggy. Let me return the favor from yesterday!”

After a moment, Yggdrasil nods reluctantly. " _Who is_ _‘Yggy’?_ "

“Hmm? Oh, that’s my little pet name for you, Yggdrasil.” Belial grins down at her. “Do you like it? Or I can just use your name, now that I figured it out. _Ygg_ -dra-sil.” He speaks each syllable in a low, sweet whisper. 

Yggdrasil’s lips curl into a shy smile, and she cuddles up against his chest. " _The pet name is nice. Thank_ you."

“Oh, it’s nothing! That’s just what friends do. And we _are_ friends, right Yggy?”

Yggdrasil’s heart swells with warmth. " _Of course!_ "

“Atta girl. Now, then…” Belial continues on his way, holding her with such gentle firmness she never feels the slightest bump.

As they return home, she describes where the materials are, making sure he knows his way back through the thick undergrowth that can be so confusing at first. That’s just what friends do.

\---

Early the next morning—after she gave Belial directions to every secret nook on Lumacie—Yggdrasil wakes to a nest without Belial’s warmth.

At first, she assumes he’s left to get some materials on his own and goes back to sleep. It’s only when she wakes hours later to the same eerie quiet that she suspects something is wrong.

" _Belial?_ " she calls, leaping to her feet and racing outside. " _Belial, where are you?_ "

A flock of startled birds explode out of the trees above her head, whirling and diving away in a panic. Silence covers the forest once again.

Her core heavy with pain, she dives into the undergrowth. She will search every league of Lumacie she can think of. Perhaps Belial lost his way?

She retraces yesterday’s steps: from the river to the waterfall, from the forests to the mountains. The water yields no pallid corpses, the caves and hollowed-out trees yield no fallen purple feathers. No warm laughter tickles her nape, no big, warm fingers caress her hair. Her ears never hear a pet name—a friend’s name—called in the distance as Belial searches just as frantically for her.

By the time she returns to her nest, the sun has traveled behind the trees, staining the sky rust-red. Her throat burns. Her feet ache. His shadow isn’t draped across her door.

Then her children speak to her. _Mother, he flew away. That man with a snake’s heart flew far from here, before the moon sank behind us._

Yggdrasil's knees tremble, only to buckle from underneath her.

 _Don’t cry, Mother!_ The flowers sway and dance in the morning breeze. _Perhaps he’ll return?_

Yggdrasil didn’t realize her eyes burn hot with tears until that moment. Even wiping them away feels hollow, like admitting defeat. " _I don’t_ _know,_ " she sings feebly. " _He seemed happy here…_ "

She gives herself a few minutes of confused pain, sitting huddled at the door of her nest, before climbing to her feet and ending another day. Despite the ache in her heart, she can’t simply leave and search for him. Her children need to be looked after. And she spends most of her days alone.

Who knows? Perhaps Belial with his strange laugh and gentle hands _will_ return one day, just like the Rose Queen sometimes has the urge to travel and come back with marvelous tales of adventure. Yggdrasil may do the same, if the days grow too familiar.

For now, all Yggdrasil has to do is watch over her precious home and wait.

(When Belial _does_ come back, she hopes he won’t mind if she throws him into the water first. Clearly he didn’t cool his head enough the first time.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :D Feedback is appreciated.


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